A year after the war, wounds remain fresh. Survivors struggle just to keep surviving. They're plagued with guilt, illness, and new prejudices. Harry always thought his life would get easier after the demise of Voldemort, but he was wrong. This story is not epilogue compliant.

Sitting alone in his tiny flat, Harry Potter poured himself another glass of Firewhisky. His third of the morning, but there was no one there to count. His eyes wandered to the calendar tacked to the wall, as if he needed a reminder of the date.

He raised his glass in the air and slurred the words, "This one's for you, Ron."

He slammed his empty glass on the table just as a faint pop alerted him to the presence of someone else in his flat. Just what he needed. Ignoring the glass, he drank directly from the bottle.

"You ever gonna learn to knock, Hermione?"

She sat down across from him, her eyes sad and tired. Her once bushy hair fell limp around her thin face. In just one year, Hermione aged ten. But the disapproving glare she shot his way was the same as it had been when they were eleven.

"Are you ever going to stop drinking?' she shot back. "It's not even ten in the morning and you're entirely sloshed."

"But I'm out of bed and dressed."

"I'd guess you haven't been to bed and you've been wearing those clothes for a week." Hermione shook her head. "This place is disgusting. When's the last time you cleaned anything? It's been a year, Harry, more than that since the war. You can't keep living like this."

"Can til my inheritance runs out. Then I'll just move into Sirius' place with Kreacher. Lots of great memories there."

"Or you could go back to work. You know Kingsley would hire you back."

"I don't want to go back, Hermione," he snapped, slamming the half-empty bottle down. "I'm not an Auror. I can't save people. I just bring death."

Hermione took his hand, but he pulled away, glaring at her. Why couldn't she take a hint and just leave him alone? He didn't want to be one of her causes. He couldn't be saved. He didn't deserve to be.

"We fought a war," Hermione told him as if he might've forgotten. "You're not personally responsible for everyone who died in that war. Those people died so that you - all of us - could live. None of them would want you blaming yourself and drinking your life away."

"Ron didn't die in the war."

Hermione's eyes teared and he almost felt guilty for saying it, but what did she expect? If she didn't want to talk about Ron, she shouldn't have come that day of all days.

"He died a hero. He was trying to save us."

"He died a fool," Harry spat. "That curse was meant for me and everyone'd be better off if it hit me."

"No one knows, for sure, who that curse was meant for. Maybe you're right. Maybe Rodolphus Lestrange was aiming for you to avenge his fallen lord. Maybe he was aiming at Mrs. Weasley to take revenge for his dead wife. Or maybe he was trying to hit Ron from the start. He was psychotic. He was killed before we could ask him. It doesn't matter what Lestrange intended to do. Ron died. One year ago today."

"You think the date slipped my mind?"

"Of course not, but this is Ron's day. Don't you think we should honor him? Go to his grave? See his family? When's the last time you even saw the Weasleys?"

"Dunno." Harry shrugged. "It was either after Ginny accused me of wanting Ron dead so I could bed you or after she decided I was madly in love with Narcissa Malfoy. Can't remember which of those incidents caused her to walk out on me."

"Okay," Hermione sighed. "I know things didn't work out for you and Ginny. She was jealous of our friendship. She was mad that you defended the Malfoys instead of letting the whole lot of them go to Azkaban. And, yes, she turned your compassion for them into some twisted obsession with Narcissa. I'm sorry it happened, but this isn't about Ginny. The Weasleys are our family and they need us today. We need each other."

"They're not my family. I have no family."

"You have me."

"Only because you can't see a lost cause staring you in the face. Just go, Hermione. Go mourn Ron in your own way. Go to the cemetery. Cry with the Weasleys. I really don't care. Just don't expect me to go with you."

Hermione crossed her arms and stared at him. All the anger and frustration drained from her face. She just looked sad. A pang of guilt nagged at Harry, but he pushed it away. This wasn't his fault. It was her fault for being foolish enough to keep believing in him.

"The answer to your pain isn't at the bottom of that bottle," she said, gesturing as he raised the bottle to his lips. "And it won't be at the bottom of the next one either."

Throwing the empty bottle aside, he glared at her.

"Well, aren't you just full of wisdom today?" he snarled. "And why is that, Hermione? Cause your life is so perfect? Fine, I'm an alcoholic. You're a workaholic. Your life is no better than mine. Stop judging me." He slammed his hands on the table as if making an important point.

"I'm not judging you. I'm trying to help you."

"I don't want your help."

Tears flooded from her eyes and she looked away.

"You wouldn't be saying this if you weren't drunk."

"I'm always drunk."

"That's the problem!"

"It's not a problem for me."

Hermione shook her head, moved until she was standing behind Harry and then wrapped her arms around him. She rested her head on his shoulder and he could smell the familiar scent of her shampoo. Her tears trickled down his neck.

"I'm sorry," he said. He wasn't entirely sure what he was apologizing for, but it seemed important he say the words. As if two simple words could ease any of her pain.

Her grasp on him tightened.

"I miss him so much," she whispered.

"I miss him, too. Every day."

Hermione pulled away, stood up straight and wiped away her tears. She even managed a slight smile for him. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't return the gesture.

"Come with me," she said with a devastating glint of hope in her eyes. "Just to the cemetery. We don't have to go to the Weasleys. Ginny'll be there with Dean. We'll both feel out of place. But we can visit Ron together. We can do that much for him. Please, Harry."

Closing his eyes, Harry cursed to himself. The last place he wanted to be was a cemetery - surrounded by death. He wanted to be alone, in his flat, with his Firewhisky. But as he looked into Hermione's wide eyes, he knew she'd won.

"Okay," he agreed with a deep sigh. "Let's go."

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